My name is Dante and soon I'll be dead. I'm writing this to let anyone who finds this know who and, more importantly what, I was. There was an outbreak. A virus. That was ten years ago. Scientists took to calling it "W01F", because of the effects of exposure. The infected grew in strength and speed. Taking on wolf-like attributes. Mainly fangs, claws, and a heightened sense of smell. In the first few weeks of the outbreak no one gave it much thought. They figured it was just another scare tactic. How wrong they were.

The infected began looking at the world as a playground and humans as sheep. They had power that, up until that point, had only been the stuff of myth and legend. It took the deaths of a school bus to snap the humans out of their own little worlds. That was when they started paying attention. They feared the power of the infected and set out to do something about it. Some joined the infected, others took up arms, and a few just hid, waiting for both sides to kill each other.

My family chose to hide. It was my father, mother, and myself. We had lost everyone else. We created a new world in that little storm shelter. We were lulled to sleep by gunfire and inhuman growls. We only left the shelter when we were running low on food and always made sure the fighting wasn't nearby. We lived that way for nine years. Nine long years. I was seventeen when that world, the world we forged from ashes, was destroyed. My father went for supplies and never came back. We were sure he had died. Like the humans at the beginning, how wrong we were.

It had been two weeks since he vanished. Two weeks of tears and guilt. That was when the knock came. It was him. It was my father. He called to us and asked to be let in. In her excitement, my mother didn't notice that his voice had changed. It was the voice of an infected. It took on an overlapping quality. Like two people speaking as one. Before I could react, she had opened the door. Hell had come to our shelter. Five of them entered, looking more like starved animals than the men they once were. My father was at the forefront. They killed my mother before I could even blink. Her neck snapped. Such speed they possessed. Looking back on it, I'm glad she didn't feel any pain. Then they were on me. I don't remember much of what happened. Just biting, tearing, and pain.

When I woke up I knew something was wrong with me. They had turned me. Turned me to be a slave and entertainment. They took great pleasure in beating me for hours on end. After a month of pain and misery I gained there trust. The beatings became seldom and they let me move freely in their camp. I learned that my father had rounded up a "pack" of sorts. He was rarely even there. He spent his time looking for recruits. Another month passed and the beatings stopped all together. On a cold, moonless night I used it to my advantage. I moved quickly and quietly through the camp, slitting the throats of all I could find. I killed everyone of them apart from my father. He ran when he heard the death gurgles. Ran with his tail between his legs. No pun intended.

That's all I can think to write, at this point. If I had more time I'd like to go into more detail, but I can hear my fathers new pack getting closer. Seems he finally tracked me down. They are at the stairs now. Best not to keep them waiting. I'm many things, but rude is not one of them.